


Under the Flight Path

by suburbanmotel



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: AU, Airplanes, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Bullying, Dream interpretation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, New Relationship, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Sibling Rivalry, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24346837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suburbanmotel/pseuds/suburbanmotel
Summary: //It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s Tyler’s horrible, evil twin brother crashing and burning on Tyler’s doorstep to destroy his life again. Whee.//“Also, my brother is coming to visit.” Tyler says this last bit casually while taking a sip of smoothie and looking out the window. He says it like, It’s snowing in May, or Fairy lights make everything fucking pretty. Like Jamie should just nod and accept it as fact.Jamie blinks. “Your what?”“My brother.” Tyler sighs and puts the glass down. “My brother Trevor is coming to visit apparently.”“Your brother like. Yourbro?”“No. Like my brother. Born of the same mother and father as me. My actual blood brother. Trevor.”Jamie finally allows himself to laugh. “Ok. But you don’t have a brother.” He’s pretty confident of this fact.“I do. I just don’t talk about him.”There’s a long, heavy pause.“You really don’t.” Jamie says this slowly while staring at the side of Tyler’s face because Tyler refuses to look at him. “Likeever.”//
Relationships: Jamie Benn/Tyler Seguin
Comments: 24
Kudos: 206
Collections: Bennguin Quarantine Fest 2020





	Under the Flight Path

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea why I wrote this. I haven’t ever written a story like this. It’s not _crack_ , per se, but it’s crackish. Cracky. _Cracktastic_. It all started when I showed a friend a photo of Tyler and they said, Holy hell. He taken? And I said, HAHAHA KINDA. And they said, Oh well. He have a brother? And I said...no. BUT I CAN FIX THAT. And so I did.

//

Eventually, everything connects.  
_~Charles Eames_

You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.  
_~ Wayne Gretzy_

Keep your stick on the ice.  
_~Red Green_

//

Fairy lights, thinks Tyler, make everything really fucking pretty.

This is followed by, Jamie is also really fucking pretty. Jamie and me, we could be a Pretty Good _Thing_.

Then he thinks, wow I am pretty fucking drunk.

It’s that word, Tyler thinks. _Pretty_. Jamie has used that word over the years more than once to describe Tyler and his hands and his moves. Pretty. He’s _pretty_ and fairy lights are _pretty_ and he and Jamie could be a _pretty good fucking thing_ and fuck he’s so fucking drunk right now but man, _fairy lights_ are messing with his _head_.

It’s dark in the backyard. It’s late and almost everyone has gone home, either under their own power if sober, or with friends and Ubers. Tyler is sprawled in a deck chair, head buzzing, eyes half-closed. It’s dark and the only illumination is a string of those lights, stretched across the top of the fence all the way around the yard, dipping and curving, tiny white sparkling lights like airplanes way up in the sky or like little dancing fairies. Tyler decides he likes that word, too — fairies — and he doesn’t realize he’s been murmuring it to himself repeatedly until Jamie knocks a warm, bare knee against his.

“You’re talking to yourself,” Jamie says, and his voice is low and warm and his skin is so warm and Tyler presses back with his own knee and keeps it there.

The season is over and they kicked ass but they’re out and a team barbecue in Jamie’s yard is a fitting bittersweet send-off before everyone heads home. Tyler is sad but he’s so tired and sore and could sleep for weeks. He thinks a nap on the grass under the lights would be really awesome right now, but realizes that might look a little weird and a lot inebriated, even for him.

“You ok?” Jamie says. His voice sounds close in the near dark, like he’s leaning right against Tyler’s ear instead of sitting a foot away. Tyler lolls his head and looks at him, tries to focus.

“I was just thinking,” Tyler says, and because he doesn’t know when to not say things, he stumbles on, “that we could be a thing maybe someday. And fairy lights are awesome.”

Near misses and second guessing and shots not taken and all that.

“We could be a thing,” Jamie says, voice careful, tongue moving tentatively like he’s skirting around furniture in an unfamiliar, dark room.

“Sure,” Tyler says and laughs. His heart is hurling itself around his ribcage and trying to crawl up his throat and he wonders how he’s able to speak at all. “Or not. Fuck. This beer is insane.” He chugs the rest of his bottle too fast, chokes a little, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He can feel Jamie watching him.

“We could, though,” Jamie says and he’s gone serious, more than usual even. _If you let us,_ hangs there, unspoken.

“Yeah,” Tyler says. I know, he doesn’t say. I can’t, he doesn’t say. Because I’m scared shitless of ruining whatever this is.

There are a lot of things he doesn’t say, to Jamie.

For instance:

Last night he dreamed of planes crashing again, big, white, cumbersome metal tubes falling from the sky, rolling and twisting, impossibly slow then impossibly fast. Belly up, belly down, nose-diving towards the earth, the water, a field of wildflowers, an ocean the colour of asphalt. Exploding on impact, dissolving into a thousand pieces, bodies never found. Planes were crashing again in Tyler’s dreams, and in his experience that meant nothing good was coming, so in retrospect, he really should have known.

//

_If you dream about watching a plane crash from the sky, this represents a possible threat that others might represent for you._

Heart pounding, breath catching high in his throat, fingers scrabbling on sweaty sheets.

His airplane obsession had started when he was a kid in Brampton, living under the flight path to and from Pearson, night after night with jets of all sizes with destinations all over the world soaring overhead. He learned and memorized all the models and engines and colours and fuel and passenger capacities, lay on his back on the cool grass in the backyard, watching and waiting and listening and dreaming.

Oh to be up there, he thought, when he was seven and 10 and 13. All those distant lights travelling around the world. To be going away from here. On his back in the cool night grass, blades tickling the back of his neck and sensitive skin of his knees. Anywhere, he would think with an intensity that caught him by surprise. Going anywhere, anywhere away from here.

//

_Planes in dreams also symbolize things and people distant from us for some reason, either emotionally or physically._

The weather in Dallas still catches him off guard, even after all these years of being away from Ontario. The heat is sudden and oppressive, pushing in from all sides. The dogs hate it, even with the air conditioning cranked and full access to the pool. They study him with pained, baleful expressions like it’s his fault, like he can fix it.

He spends the days following their last game sleeping and eating and texting friends and family, making plans for golf outings and holidays and for the long months ahead when all he’ll want to do is get back to playing hockey.

He sleeps long hours alone, starfished across the bed, fluctuating between dead, dreamless stretches of time and violent, jarring images that jerk him awake in the dark, head pounding, sweat pooling in the small of his back, behind his neck and knees.

He doesn’t text Jamie.

 _We could be a thing,_ he thinks, when he allows himself to think of anything other than rebuilding muscle mass and acupuncture sessions and sinking to the bottom of his pool, six feet of cool blue water above his head, filling his ears, holding his breath until his heart burns and his lungs ache. _We could, though. If you let us._

He opens his laptop to look at booking tickets home, but when he imagines actually boarding a plane, the long rumble to takeoff, the stomach rolling lift to the skies above, his fingers start to shake and he has to slam the lid back down, hard.

//

_Planes crashing in dreams are a warning sign that things are going downhill in your life and problems will arise out of nowhere. You may find yourself trapped in situations where there is no apparent escape. Your subconscious is warning you of danger coming your way._

Heart pounding, breath catching high in his throat, fingers scrabbling on sweaty sheets.

Cash whines at the foot of his bed and Tyler lays paralyzed, eyes open and staring at his own dark ceiling, flat and heavy, feeling like the whole entire world has shrunk and is pressing down on his chest, wondering what the hell he’s done this time to piss off the universe.

He checks his phone. There’s another unanswered text from Jamie, sent hours ago:

_Lunch tomorrow my place k don’t ignore me this time_

Tyler holds the phone above his face, blinking against the glare, and wills his stupid heart to stop pounding, his hands to stop sweating. He finds an email, jammed in amongst the junk mail and promotions and endless team stuff, an unfamiliar address but stunningly familiar name. Tyler stares at it, stupid and uncomprehending. He wonders about the universe again, wonders how fast he can pack and get in his car and get the hell out of Dallas.

What, he wonders, has he done to deserve this.

He holds his breath, clicks on the link.

//

“It’s snowing,” Tyler says.

“No, it’s not,” Jamie says. Jamie is looking out the window and Tyler is looking down at his phone, so Jamie figures he knows what he’s talking about.

Tyler looks up. He grins. Jamie melts. “No, silly. Not _here_. Back home.”

Jamie frowns. “It’s _May_ ,” he says, like he not completely sure. “Isn’t it?”

Tyler sighs. “Yeah. It is.” He shrugs, lip twisting. “Ontario,” he adds, like that explains it. It probably does, not that Jamie would know. He can count on one hand the number of times he saw snow in Victoria growing up.

“Also, my brother is coming to visit.” Tyler says this last bit casually while taking a sip of smoothie and looking out the window. He says it like, By the way, it’s snowing in May, or Fairy lights make everything fucking pretty. Like Jamie should just nod and accept it as fact.

Jamie blinks. “Your what?”

“My brother.” Tyler sighs and puts the glass down. “My brother Trevor is coming to visit apparently.”

“Your brother like. Your _bro_?”

Tyler has lots of friends — _bros_ — and Jamie knows this because he’s heard Tyler talk about them at length, has seen them in the flesh over the years.

“No. Like my brother. Born of the same mother and father as me. My actual blood brother. Trevor.”

Jamie finally allows himself to laugh. “Ok. But you don’t have a brother.” He’s pretty confident of this fact.

“I do. I just don’t talk about him.”

There’s a long, heavy pause.

“You really don’t.” Jamie says this slowly while staring at the side of Tyler’s face because Tyler refuses to look at him. “Like _ever_.”

“Yeah.”

Jamie blinks. Tyler still won’t make eye contact.

“I mean not once.” Jamie tilts his head. “I’ve known you for…how long now? And I know about your two sisters, and your mom and your dad and your childhood pets and favourite breakfast foods and biggest pet peeves and your buddies back home and way too much about your past sexual conquests, and yet not once, _ever_ , have I heard you mention—”

“Yes. I know. Got it. Yes.” Tyler has given up on the smoothie and just pats the top of the green liquid with the pad of his finger. “We don’t talk much. We don’t really get along. And he travels pretty much all the time. Like, I can’t remember the last time he set foot in Ontario, or Canada for that matter, but I guess _Dallas_ is not beneath him. So.” He shrugs like this covers it, like this explains everything.

Jamie still has no idea what to say. Tyler finally looks over at him. His face is a fascinating combination of resigned and angry and defiant and _sad_.

Jamie tries again. “But I’ve never even seen a _photo_ of—”

Tyler speaks quickly. He’s nervous, Jamie realizes. Or guilty. “We _really_ don’t get along. We decided a long time ago to just, like, not see each other. Or talk. Ever. It was mutual. I like to pretend he doesn’t exist and I think he feels the same, so.” Again he shrugs. Jamie tries to wrap his mind around everything that has happened in the past seven minutes. The kitchen is still quiet and white and smells like coffee and the sun is still shining outside and it’s snowing in Ontario and he’s still Jamie and Tyler is still Tyler. He thinks.

“So why is he coming _now_?”

“I don’t know!” Tyler sounds aggrieved. “My mom said something about him turning over a new leaf or having a near death experience or maybe he had a complete personality transplant on one of his trips to Nepal because honestly I have no fucking clue why he wants to see me now, after all these years. I don’t know.”

“Ok,” Jamie says. He has no idea what else to say. He can’t think too clearly right now.

“I have no idea how long he’s even staying. As usual, I’m the last to know his plans and he acts like some big fucking hotshot who could be called away at a moment’s notice,” Tyler says, voice dark. “You don’t even have to meet him if you don’t—”

“Oh no,” Jamie says. “I am meeting him. I’m meeting your brother. Trust me on that.”

Tyler sighs, like he was expecting it.

“So,” Jamie starts. “This brother.”

“Trevor.”

“Right. He older? Younger?”

“Uh. Around my age.” Tyler goes back to patting the smoothie which seems to forming some kind of skin on its surface.

Jamie laughs. “Around.”

Tyler sighs again. “Yes. Like 28. He’s 28.”

“You’re 28.”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh my god.” Jamie laughs again. It sounds very loud in the kitchen. “You’re—”

“We’re twins. Yes, Jamie.” He pauses.

“Identical?” Jamie dares to ask.

“Last time I checked, yes.”

Again there’s a silence. Jamie tries to imagine two people in the world who look exactly like Tyler looks and it seems really unfair, to be honest. He wonders suddenly if he’s being pranked, if this is some crazy elaborate scheme that Tyler has created just to fuck with him. Maybe he got Rads involved. This would be right up Rads’ alley. He looks around his kitchen. He thinks he’s being furtive but Tyler glares at him.

“I’m not pranking you. Jesus. I wish I was, but no. Sadly not.”

“Ok. Ok! But you have to admit. I mean. Look at it from my point of view, Tyler.”

“Yeah.” Tyler shoves his drink away and clutches his head with both hands. He moans, long and pained. Jamie swallows and reaches out to pat Tyler’s shoulder.

“It’s gonna be fine,” he says. He has no clue if it’s gonna be fine. He can’t envision what it’s going to be like at all. He keeps wanting to laugh.

“It’s gonna be a fucking flaming plane crash,” Tyler says, voice low and muffled and sincere. “You have _no_ idea what he’s like.”

“So tell me.”

“He’s better than me in every way.”

“I find that very hard to believe.”

“He is. He always has been. He’s smarter and funnier and faster and our parents were always bragging about him to everyone. He thought hockey was stupid and I was stupid and I fucking _hate_ him.” Tyler sounds like he’s 12. Jamie wisely doesn’t point this out.

“He sounds. Uh.”

“And now he’s some hotshot engineer who’s talented and respected and rich and travels the world and I hate him.”

Jamie blinks. “You’re talented. You travel. You’re rich.”

Tyler frowns and cradles his face. “It’s different.”

“How?”

“He’s _smart_. Like super smart.” Tyler says this like it greatly pains him. “Like genius level. Gifted program. Finished high school in two years and got accepted at like 20 different universities. They were _begging_ him to come, _begging_ and there I was some dumb hockey player who needed tutoring in almost every subject just to keep up—”

Tyler’s voice is getting louder and angrier.

“You have no idea how many times he made me feel like the stupidest person on the fucking planet.” He’s practically shouting now. “And of course we’re identical, so he’s fucking gorgeous too, and could get any girl — or guy — he wanted, which usually ended up being whoever I happened to be dating at that precise moment—”

“Ok, ok,” Jamie starts rubbing Tyler’s back, muscles bunching and quivering under his hand. “Maybe he’s uh. Like your mom said. Maybe he’s changed. Mellowed.”

“Ha!” Tyler lets his head fall to the table with a thud. “He’s just coming here to brag about the latest plane he designed or fixed or flew or whatever the fuck he does and then he’ll tie my shoelaces together when I’m not looking, remind me _again_ that the average length of an NHL career is five years—”

“Which you’ve already surpassed, extremely successfully—”

“And _then_ , just for kicks, he’ll probably try to hit on _you_.”

Thud, thud.

“Stop hitting your head.” Jamie says, hand resting in Tyler’s hair, holding him still. He swallows. “Why uh. Why would he do _that_.”

Tyler doesn’t answer. He just groans. Then he pushes his chair back, stands up and walks over to Jamie. He hovers there, waiting, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“What,” Jamie says. Tyler shuffles forward, feet and legs pushing against the edge of Jamie’s chair and Jamie realizes _what_ when Tyler starts trying to sit on his lap. “Oh. Ok.”

He slides the chair back far enough to make room for Tyler to straddle his thighs and sit down heavily, wood groaning slightly under their combined, considerable weight. Tyler wraps his arms around Jamie’s shoulders and pushes his face into the side of Jamie’s neck and exhales hard. Jamie concentrates on not feeling Tyler’s lips, wet and parted on his skin.

“He will try to hit on you because that’s what he _does_ ,” Tyler says and Jamie can definitely feel those lips now, moving. “He loves taking what is _mine_ and proving he is better and stronger and smarter and people like him more. They always have.”

Jamie tries to imagine liking anyone more than he likes Tyler and fails. He lets his hands rest on Tyler’s warm, broad back, lets himself pull Tyler in as close as he can.

“Well,” Jamie says, voice firm even as his heart wrecks the inside of his chest. “That won’t happen with me.”

“You say that now,” Tyler says, breathing hot and hard on Jamie’s skin.

“I do.”

“But he always gets what he wants.”

“Well, he doesn’t want _me_ ,” Jamie says, laughing and holding Tyler.

Tyler pulls back just enough to look Jamie right in the eyes, holding his gaze steady for far too long.

“Well, he hasn’t met you yet, has he.”

//

_Fire and plane crash: this dream represents strong emotions you might be feeling currently. Perhaps you have been accumulating a lot of feelings and now you feel like your heart is about to explode._

Heart pounding, breath catching high in his throat, fingers scrabbling on sweaty sheets. Tyler pulls himself out and up and away from the acrid smoke and rubble, scrubbing shaking hands over his face. Marshall nudges at his hands with his cold wet nose and Tyler manages a weak laugh. He buries his face in dark fur and tries not to think about feelings or exploding hearts or long, weightless drops from great heights.

//

Grass cool and scratchy under his back and the sliding glass door opening and shutting with force across the yard, heavy footsteps down the deck stairs to stand beside him.

“What are you always doing out here?” Trevor used to say when he’d find Tyler in the backyard, flat on his back, watching the sky.

“Nothing. Go away.”

“Shouldn’t you be shoving a puck around the ice or something?”

“Shouldn’t you be uh.” Fuck.

“Good one,” Trevor would say, kicking Tyler in the calf, hard.

“Fuck off, Trevor,” Tyler said, grabbing his leg. “Mom said to stop _doing_ that.”

Trevor kicked him again. “That’ll be me up there one day,” he said, ignoring his brother. “I’m gonna be the youngest pilot ever. Or an astronaut. Something big. Something amazing. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Good. I hope you fly to Mars and never come back.”

“Better than this shit hole,” Trevor said, moving to kick him _again_ jesus. “What are you gonna do? _Try_ to make it to the NHL?”

“Yes,” Tyler said, rolling away and up, limping slightly despite his best efforts.

“One in 4,000,” Trevor said, voice filled with dark glee. “Even less likely if you get injured.” Then he shoves him from behind, hard.

//

_Depending on the wind direction, planes usually fly west and then west of Georgetown. Over Halton Hills they bank left and then bank left again, line up with the runway they’ve been assigned to land on and make all the preparations, lowering altitude, reducing speed, creating more drag, lowering landing gear, etc., over Halton Hills and Mississauga and Brampton, landing the big birds safely at Toronto’s Pearson Airport._

There’s a plane falling from the sky.

First, it flies right over his head and for a moment he’s back in Brampton, lying on the grass in the park down the street from his house in the dark with the trees and the lights and heart-stopping, heart-pounding jet engine ringing right down in his bones.

Slow, impossibly slow and heavy, the impossibly huge white mass twists and falls and Tyler stands on the ground, watching, wide-eyed, helpless. There’s a roaring in his ears and even when he claps his hands over them he can still hear the metal screeching and screeching and splitting wide open.

//

He and Jamie are still not a Pretty Good Thing.

But we could be, he thinks. We could be.

//

There’s an almost between them, Jamie thinks. Some days Jamie thinks he could reach out and touch it, if he tried. A palpable yearning. A pining. If it had a colour, he thinks, it would be orange.

He knows Tyler thinks about it, has seriously considered it. He knows him well enough now after all this time, knows when Tyler is fucking around and when he’s truly thinking about life and relationships and shit. Jamie’s not blind. He sees the way Tyler looks at him, how his entire face changes and the night of the party in his backyard, he could have kissed him and he thinks Tyler would have kissed him back and not even made some stupid crack about it after. And maybe it could have turned into something, something more, something serious, and maybe, he thinks, that’s why it hadn’t happened at all.

//

_Plane crashes signify unrealistic goals you’ve set in your life. They may represent fear you have or can be symbolic of a negative journey that you soon will take. They’re often associated with unfulfilled feelings, personal conflicts and unresolved issues in our lives._

Heart pounding, breath catching high in his throat, fingers scrabbling on sweaty sheets.

He could have kissed Jamie that night, in the backyard with the fairy lights all pretty and the planes flying overhead and Jamie looking at him _like that_ but then what? What would have happened after? Jamie with his serious face and big eyes and his plans for the future and Tyler would have taken it all and fucked it all up, just like he always has, and in the past it didn’t mean that much, didn’t matter that much. But fucking up something with Jamie was different wasn’t it? It wasn’t nothing and it did matter and it meant pretty much everything, which is why, he thinks, it wasn’t happening at all.

//

_Dreams about almost crashing in an airplane usually reveal a state of anticipation for the worst to happen. This dream could also reveal your overall negative outlook on things._

Heart pounding, breath catching high in his throat, fingers scrabbling on sweaty sheets.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters into the dark as Gerry nuzzles and paws at him. His nostrils are filled with dog, which, he supposes is better than jet fuel oil and screaming melted metal.

Overall negative outlook, he thinks. The worst things that could happen, he thinks. Well, here’s a list:

A career-ending injury

A family member getting sick

Getting together with Jamie and Jamie eventually and inevitably leaving him

Getting together with Jamie and Tyler eventually inevitably fucking it up

His stupid fucking brother showing up out of nowhere and forcing him to explain his life and his mistakes and his relationships, laying everything bare, nowhere to hide, no lies undetected.

//

Because he is a masochist, he drags Jamie with him to pick Trevor up from the airport.

“You’re not dragging me,” Jamie says, voice fond. “I offered to come.”

“An offer you will soon regret, I’m sure.”

They park and wait in the designated arrivals area, watching planes land and taxi up to their terminals, passengers disembarking.

“He could be on that plane, that one, right now,” Tyler says, pointing, voice dark and heavy. “I can sense the evil.”

“Oh my god,” Jamie says. “He cannot be that bad.”

“He can. He really, really can.”

And because he’s feeling brave, Jamie reaches out and grabs Tyler’s hand, cold and clammy from the Dallas heat and airport air conditioning, and squeezes it, hard.

Tyler startles and looks at him, wide-eyed, mouth parted. He nods and squeezes back.

Almost there, Jamie thinks.

//

_To witness an airplane falling from the sky can indicate that you are setting yourself up for failure. You have the predetermined notion of difficult challenges and failures, and you unintentionally sabotage your own efforts._

And here he is, in the flesh, Tyler thinks when he sees the mirror image of himself sauntering towards them in the arrivals hallway, effortlessly cool and put-together, leather satchel slung over one shoulder, sunglasses on, inside.

Asshole, he thinks.

“Trevor,” he says.

The carbon copy pushes the sunglasses up to the top of his head, smiles big and wide.

“Almost didn’t recognize you,” his brother says.

“Ha,” Tyler says. They don’t hug, or shake hands, or fist bump, or give a thumbs up. They just stand there, staring. Trevor finally looks away, glances over at Jamie and his smile changes, becomes something sly and predatory, and his tongue touches the corner of his mouth.

“You must be Jamie,” he says. “I’ve heard all sorts of things about you.”

“What things?” Tyler says. “From who?” Tyler is too loud, but neither of them are listening to him. Trevor is sticking his hand out and Jamie is shaking it, of course he is, because that’s what polite, normal, nice, civilized people do when they’re meeting someone for the first time, even their best friend’s evil twin brother who’s been hidden from knowledge for years. And Trevor is smiling and pulling Jamie closer, just a bit, and Jamie is swallowing and glancing back and forth between him and Tyler, and Tyler knows that look, because he knows Jamie. Holy shit, Jamie is thinking. He’s also probably thinking, I like this guy, this brother of yours. He’s super attractive and super smart and I’m going to quit playing hockey and run away with him in the middle of the night because clearly _you’re_ not taking me up on my offer because you’d just ruin everything anyway.

Tyler is pretty sure that’s exactly what Jamie is thinking as Trevor refuses to let go of Jamie’s big, beautiful hand and smiles right at him.

It’s a fucking plane crash, Tyler thinks. This is no dream. I’m actually living it. It’s my very own personal plane crash, flaming and burning right at my feet, and the worst possible thing I can imagine is happening right in front of me.

Setting yourself up for failure is so much easier when you have absolutely no expectations of success in the first place.

//

For some reason Jamie thought Tyler had been joking. Or exaggerating, maybe. After all, no two people look exactly the same, not even identical twins.

“Wow,” Jamie says. “You two are really uh.”

“Yeah,” Tyler says.

“You have very big hands,” Trevor says.

“Let’s go,” Tyler says, and marches away.

Jamie feels like laughing but he realizes Tyler does not find any of this funny in the least. He bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood.

They’re all quiet as Tyler maneuvers his way out onto the freeway, pointing towards home, Trevor sitting shotgun which allows Jamie to observe as unobtrusively as he can from the back seat. It’s fascinating and frightening at the same time. The exact same colour hair. The exact same profile, slant of brows, curve of lower lips. Even their facial hair is the same, which Jamie finds oddly hilarious as they clearly do not stay in touch with each other. They’re both fidgeting, too, tapping fingers on their knees as Tyler drives, too fast, too jerky. They’re the same, Jamie thinks, biting back a hysterical sound. He wonders with some horror, if he’d be able to tell them apart in the dark, just by touch, by scent. He’s honestly not sure.

Until Trevor looks right at him and opens his goddamn mouth.

“So, you two fucking or what?”

//

_If you dream of a plane crashing down from the sky, this represents your fears that someone needs your protection and you’re afraid something bad might happen to them._

Jamie fucking hates him. It’s an immediate, knee-jerk reaction that he’s never really experienced before. And it’s so weird because this guy, this guy he fucking hates looks exactly the same as the guy he’s pretty much completely, totally in love with.

It’s a dilemma.

“Tyler says you travel for work?” Jamie says. They’re sitting in Tyler’s living room, drinking beer and trying to be act like civilized adults. It’s proving to be more difficult with every passing second. So far Trevor has insulted Tyler’s home — tacky — his vehicles — gauche — his tennis court — in desperate need of repairs — and has inquired, three times now, the exact nature of Tyler and Jamie’s relationship. When Tyler says, for the third time, that they’re friends and teammates _only_ , Trevor purses his lips and nods and winks, all three times.

“I’m an aerospace engineer.” Trevor says this very very loudly. They haven’t eaten yet and he’s on his fourth beer and is heading for his fifth at a rapid pace.

“Ok,” Jamie says. “So, does that mean you travel?”

“Constantly,” Trevor says, planting his feet on the coffee table. He hasn’t taken his shoes off. “It’s exhausting but I can’t imagine staying in one place for longer than a week now. How _boring_.”

“Tyler says—”

“Talk about me a lot, huh?” Trevor says, elbowing Tyler in the side so hard Tyler spills his drink.

“Actually, I learned about your very existence exactly—” Jamie looks at his watch. “One week ago today.”

Trevor laughs loud and hard, and slaps his own knee as well.

“I like you, Jamie. I knew I would.” His eyes move up and down Jamie’s body, lingering on his lips, his eyes, his crotch.

“For fucks’ sake,” Tyler mutters.

“So,” Jamie says way too loudly. “I can’t imagine you’ll be staying long then, right?”

Trevor takes a long, long pull on the bottle. Jamie watches the flex of that wrist, the pulse of his neck, the muscles in his jaw, the shadows beneath his lashes. Everything so familiar but so wrong. Looking at this beautiful doppelganger he feels nothing at all.

Well, he amends. Not nothing. He feels kind of repulsed and a lot pissed off. He feels off kilter, unbalanced, spinning and heading in a steep decline for the ground.

“Not sure, big guy,” Trevor says. “Depends, I guess, on the company.”

“What company do you work for?” Jamie asks politely.

“Not my company.” Trevor sighs. “You. Your company. If you two keep me interested I’ll stay. If not.” He trails off, shrugs, opens another beer.

So they talk, or rather, Trevor talks and Jamie pretends to listen, because Jamie promised Tyler he’d stick around, at least for a few hours to help break the ice. Jamie is starting to think the ice is 50 feet thick and frozen solid. Tyler excuses himself to the bathroom because he feels like he’s going to puke. He splashes water on his face and stares at his pale, shaken reflection and orders himself to snap the fuck out of it. He can do this. He can handle his stupid brother for however long he’s going to be here. He’s not 13 anymore. He’s a grownup. He’s a goddamn NHL hockey player. He’s a _professional_.

When he walks back out into his living room, Trevor is sitting on Jamie’s lap. He’s straddling Jamie’s thighs, facing Jamie, like he’s giving him his own private lap dance. Jamie is sitting still and silent, arms angled out from his sides, hands up, like he’s being held at gunpoint. He meets Tyler’s gaze over Trevor’s shoulder and Tyler knows that look. It’s an SOS. It’s a, Help get this fucker off me before I kill him with my bare hands, but to be honest if that’s the natural progression of events here this afternoon, Tyler isn’t sure he wants to help at all.

//

When Trevor muscled his way onto Jamie’s lap as soon as the bathroom door closed with an audible click, Jamie froze. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t yell or protest or shove or do anything. He sat there like a log, a log in deep shock. He processed the weight and width and warmth of Trevor’s body, the way Trevor’s thighs bracketed his thighs and how Trevor’s forearms rested across his shoulders heavy and solid, almost exactly the same way Tyler had done a week ago. But this time Jamie didn’t hug back. This time Jamie lifted his arms in response, hands free and out to the side to avoid touching Trevor’s body anywhere. Trevor’s boozy, beery breath wafted over his skin and Trevor looked at him with that face so familiar and yet so fucking evil.

“What are you doing?” Jamie hissed. He felt dumb and slow and unable to process. Trevor wriggled and pressed down and leaned close like he was going to kiss him and Jamie knew there was no way in hell Trevor was going to kiss him before Tyler got to and he was just about to shove this asshole as hard as he could when Tyler walked in.

“Oh fuck,” Tyler said, cracking Jamie’s heart open. And then, “Well. I guess I should have known.” And Jamie’s heart crashed and burned in a thousand pieces across the ground at his feet.

//

Tyler feels like crying. He feels like kicking the couch. He’s five again and his brother is stomping on his favourite toy. He 13 and Trevor is bloodying his nose in the garage that they’re supposed to be cleaning together and he’s 15 and Trevor is fucking his girlfriend and laughing about it after while Tyler tries to knock the shit out of him and fails. Trevor beating him at every subject. Trevor besting him in every race. Taking his girlfriends and boyfriends. Tyler lying on the grass watching planes and wishing he was on them going far far far away.

There’s a roaring in his ears loud like jet engines, right over his head.

“Oh fuck,” he says. They both look at him. Trevor with that fucking look he always had back then. That smug knowing look of victory. Jamie, however, looks far from victorious. He looks lost, like he often does. Sweet and beautiful and so lost.

“You’re still a horrible brother,” Tyler says like an idiot. “You haven’t changed at all. You’re horrible and shitty and.” He stops and swallows because he will _not_ fucking cry right now. “Shitty,” he repeats.

“You really are,” says Jamie, and he does shove then, hard, sending Trevor’s body back, toppling onto Tyler’s coffee table littered with Trevor’s empty bottles. He lands with an awkward, heavy thump, bottles flying, table skidding on the hardwood. Trevor regains his composure, mostly, sitting upright and affecting an air of nonchalance.

“Well, _you’re_ not taking advantage of all that,” Trevor says to his brother while waving a hand in Jamie’s direction. He’s slurring his words now, tongue tripping over consonants. “So I thought I would.” He burps. “I mean, what do you care, anyway? You did say you’re not dating, right?”

“We’re not,” Tyler says. “Dating. You’re right.” Tyler feels sick again. He probably should have just made himself puke on his first trip to the bathroom to get it over with.

“Not yet,” Jamie says suddenly.

“Not yet what?”

“We’re not dating _yet_ ,” he says. He crosses his arms and his legs as well, in case Trevor decides to go for round two.

“What does that mean?” Tyler looks at him.

“It means you just have to ask.” Jamie looks right back.

“I do?” Tyler blinks. “I have to ask?”

“Well, I thought I’d made _my_ intentions pretty clear.” Jamie clears his throat. “I’ve just been, you know. Waiting. For you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Trevor says. He staggers to the kitchen and comes back holding two more bottles. “I thought maybe you’d grown up by now, Ty, grown a pair, but you’re just as useless as you’ve always been. And your taste in men still sucks. You two are fucking idiots. And I don’t mean that affectionately.”

Jamie frowns and looks at Tyler. He’s clearly given up any pretenses of politeness.

“People like this guy?” he says, jabbing a thumb at Trevor. “More than they like you? Are you fucking serious?”

“I’m a goddamn delight,” Trevor says, drinking again.

“According to Tyler you have everything you could possibly want and yet you still want what Tyler has, which is me,” Jamie says. “And you can’t have me.”

“Boo hoo,” Trevor says, draining another bottle.

“I have you?” Tyler says, surprised.

“If you want me,” Jamie says.

“I mean, can I? Have you? I’m. I’m asking.”

“You can have me,” Jamie says, smiling genuinely for the first time since Trevor made his cursed appearance. Tyler knows it’s genuine because of the teeth. And the dimples.

“I can?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

“Ok.” Tyler scrubs his palms over his jeans. “Good.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says.

“Good,” Tyler says again.

“Jesus Christ,” Trevor says with feeling, right before he passes out.

//

In the cool and dark of the bedroom, Jamie kisses him dry and tentative with nervous hands resting on his shoulders. Tyler kisses him back with his eyes half open because he doesn’t want to miss anything important. This is new and not new at all but he’s _nervous_ and he’s _trembling_ and then he realizes Jamie is trembling, too. Tyler kisses the corner of his mouth, catches his bottom lip between his teeth, lightly.

“Come to bed with me,” Jamie says against Tyler’s jaw. His voice is shaking. “I mean, it’s your bed, but.”

“It is,” Tyler says, and shoves him down on it. “My turn,” he says, kissing Jamie’s chin and cheek and forehead. “Stay here. With me. In my bed. So I can do things to you.”

He squeezes Jamie’s sides, nuzzles at his collarbones, shoves his T-shirt up so he can kiss the hollow at the bottom of his throat, then lick each of his nipples.

“Jesus, Tyler,” Jamie says, hips bucking. He’s hard. Tyler can feel him through his shorts and the realization makes his brain fuzz out. Everything is white noise and heat as he unbuttons Jamie’s clothes and slides them off, breathes him in through his underwear, the wet spot there.

“Oh god,” Jamie says, settling his hands on Tyler’s head. “You too,” he says, plucking at the shoulders of Tyler’s shirt. “Please.”

Tyler pulls off his shirt and kicks off his jeans and lies full length along Jamie and kisses him again, harder this time, tongues and teeth and Jamie’s throat working for breath.

“Can I,” Jamie starts, hands moving up and down Tyler’s back, stopping above the waistband of his underwear. He’s waiting for Tyler to agree. Can I touch you, Tyler thinks he means to say and it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever been asked.

“Yeah. Yes,” Tyler says in a voice that doesn’t sound quite like his and Jamie works his way down Tyler’s body, over smooth skin and hard muscles, biting his hips and the tops of his thighs. He takes Tyler in his mouth, a wet, hot slide of lips and tongue and Tyler grabs at anything, settling on the top of Jamie’s head, fingers tangled in his hair while Jamie moves with deliberation, slow, and then fast. When Tyler comes, he pushes his face into the pillow and exhales, tears at the corners of his eyes, mouth wide open, Jamie’s mouth wet and hot around his dick.

Tyler, still out of breath, sweat running down his sides, grabs Jamie’s dick, weighs the heaviness of it in his palm, thinks about choices and the best things that could happen, about fears and protection and kisses Jamie while he adjusts his grip and slides his hand.

Jamie comes with a bitten back shout, his body taut and twisted like a bow, everything hard and soft at once, just like Tyler knew he would, just like he’d always dreamed.

//

_If you dream about your boyfriend being on the plane that crashed, this dream represents a strong fear of losing him. This dream is a clear representation of fears you might not want to admit to yourself._

He wakes up right when the big white tube hits the ground, eyes wide, heart thudding. He swallows once, hard, then again, and again, breathing in through his nose in a harsh whistle. Beside him, in the dark, Jamie’s big, solid body moves.

This might be a disaster, Tyler thinks, all of it. Or near enough. Everything could fall apart fall away fall through the air, and disintegrate on impact. He can still smell smoke and fuel but there’s Jamie, right there, breathing and warm and alive, right beside him.

“What?” Jamie’s voice, low and rough says. “What is it?”

“Sorry,” Tyler says. He still can’t move. He can still see the plane exploding, so bright it lit up the sky and half-blinded him. “Dream,” he manages to say.

Jamie rolls right over then, pulling on the sheet and blanket, making the mattress dip slightly as he resettles.

“You ok?” His hand, solid and warm and alive, lands on Tyler’s chest, fingers spread wide, anchoring him to the bed.

“Better now,” Tyler says, taking Jamie’s hand and pressing his lips to his palm. He drifts for a moment, weightless, on the edge of sleep again, wondering if everything that happened yesterday really happened at all. “You met my brother,” he says.

“I sure did.”

“My _twin_ brother.”

“You look a lot alike,” Jamie says, feeling the words carefully in his mouth, moving them around and tasting them before letting them go. He needs to be careful here, he knows. The expression on Tyler’s face is fractured. Jamie wants to knit it all back together. “I mean, that’s a given. But I can see differences. I can hear differences. You’re not.” He stops. “Well obviously you’re not the same person.”

“Could you tell us apart in the dark?”

“Well, I could now,” Jamie says. “And he doesn’t have your tattoos, for one thing.”

“Uh huh.”

Jamie kisses him, soft soft, right on the mouth. He bends down to speak to him, right ear, left ear, alternating.

“You’ve thought about this,” he says.

Tyler nods, strung tight like wire.

“What would you do to me?”

“Everything.

“What can I do to you?”

“Anything.”

Jamie leans down and presses his lips to Tyler’s bare shoulder and starts to detail all the differences.

//

When Tyler wakes up again, it’s to the sound of violent vomiting down the hall, followed by muttered curses and bangs and a toilet flushing, several times.

Tyler smiles and rolls over, his head against Jamie’s warm, solid back, and falls asleep.

//

_A plane crashing means you’re stuck in a specific phase of your life waiting for external help to come but you need to make a decision for yourself by yourself. Remove the fear and anxiety, renew your sense of independence and courage and move forward to achieve something instead of waiting._

Despite being in a vegetative state mere hours previously, Trevor looks fresh and ready to go, sunglasses on, bag over shoulder, hovering at the front door as they wait for the Uber, impatient to get on with his life and whatever it is that he does, far away from here.

“Well,” Tyler says. He’s pressed close to Jamie’s side. Jamie can feel the nervous heat of him through their layers of clothes. He can smell Tyler on him, from the night in his bed.

“So you two _are_ fucking.” Trevor doesn’t sound gleeful. He sounds resigned, he sounds utterly done with them and this place and their lives.

“Well, _now_ we are.”

“Because of me,” Trevor prompts.

Jamie starts to protest but Tyler squeezes his arm.

“I suppose you were the uh. The thing that got it going finally.”

“The catalyst,” Trevor says, looking at his watch.

“Sure,” Tyler says.

“You’re welcome.”

No one speaks for a moment. It’s a good moment.

“So, you’re going,” Jamie says, smiling.

“It’s time,” Trevor says. He opens the front door and peers outside, hoping. He turns back with a smile that is neither warm nor friendly. “Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You lasted less than 24 hours,” Tyler says. 

“You’re _boring_ ,” Trevor says. He’s still smiling. Does the guy ever stop fucking smiling? And it’s not a nice smile. It’s not sweet or goofy or gentle or kind or any of the words Jamie automatically associates with Tyler’s smile, or Tyler in general. Trevor’s smile is tight and fake and mean and waiting. It’s a test. “And you’re phony. And you’re dumb. And you two are perfect for each other.”

“Well you’re right about that last part, anyway,” Jamie says and then punches him in the face. Right in his beautiful mean fucking face. He might break his nose. He’s not sure. Trevor gasps and leans over, blood dropping to the floor at his feet.

“Fucking _fuck_ ,” Trevor says. He snatches the towel that Tyler hands to him, pushes it to his nose, glares at both of them. “I’m gonna tell mom about this.”

“Ok,” Tyler says.

Trevor tries to clean up his face, then drops the towel on the floor. Then he stomps on it.

“Well,” he says. He hoists his bag over his shoulder. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

“Ok,” Jamie says. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Trevor’s phone pings.

“I’m going,” Trevor says.

“Bye,” Tyler says, and he even manages a little wave, followed by a thumbs up.

//

_To dream that you are flying an airplane suggests that you are in complete control of your destination in life._

There’s a plane overhead, so high it’s barely visible in the weakening light of the May night.

“Maybe he’s on that one right there,” Tyler says, pointing.

“God I hope so.”

It’s hot, but Tyler was insistent they come outside. He likes Jamie’s backyard. Jamie likes making Tyler happy, so it’s a win-win for both of them. Here, Tyler thinks. Here is where I want to be, with all the lights above and around them and Jamie right in the middle shining brighter than them all.

After a minute Jamie says, “I know he’s your brother and everything,”

“Yeah.”

“But.”

“Yeah.”

“I fucking hate that guy.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Really.”

“Ok.”

“Yeah,” Tyler says. “Me, too. Sometimes I think my mom does, too. But she’d never say so. Out loud.”

“Moms tend not to do that, in my experience.”

Jamie clears his throat. Tyler looks at him. Right at him and Jamie can’t breathe. This, he thinks, remember this.

“You know,” he begins. “You know you’re not those things. You’re not boring or dumb.”

Tyler doesn’t say anything. “I didn’t know what catalyst meant.”

“I looked it up, after,” Jamie says. “And he was right. Still doesn’t mean you’re dumb.”

“He’s just always been best at everything.”

Jamie looks right at him. “Well, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, so.”

Tyler kisses him, soft soft, right on the mouth. Jamie touches his cheek, his hair, the tips of his nose.

“I’m really glad you punched him.”

It was so weird in that moment, Jamie thinks, his fist connecting with Trevor’s face. Not the hitting, exactly. Jamie had hit many faces over the years generally in the middle of a game, but he’d realized, right when flesh hit cartilage, that this was also Tyler’s face the exact shape and size and bones and skin and his heart twisted as well as soared when Trevor rocked back with a shout and a snap.

Jamie kisses him back. “Well, it’s crazy the things you do for love, I guess.”

//

Love, Tyler thinks, is a lot of things he can’t put a name to yet. But love, he thinks, includes seeing your evil replica astride your favourite persons lap and the favourite person looking like he might vomit or implode. Love is that favourite person trying his best to be nice but in the end telling your evil replica to fuck off and punching them in the face, that was what love was. Or at least part of it, Tyler has decided. A good part right now.

He can figure out the rest later.

But right now there’s grass under his back, touching the backs of his neck and knees and there’s the goddamn pretty fairy lights all lit up around the fence and there’s Jamie and they’re a thing, a pretty goddamn awesome thing and somewhere up there, there are planes and on a plane is his brother going far far far away. He grins up at the sky and squeezes Jamie’s hand and brings it up to his mouth and kisses it, making Jamie laugh.

This is mine and this is ours, Tyler thinks, kissing Jamie’s knuckles and then opening his hand and pressing his lips to Jamie’s palm. Jamie sucks in a breath.

Tyler holds his hand closer, tucks it under his chin and looks up.

Nothing but clear sky and bright stars and infinite space.

//


End file.
